Arthur Ransome - Swallows and Amazons (Complete Series)

“It’s very funny about their not coming,” said John.

“I wonder what Mrs. Dixon meant,” said Titty.

“Perhaps they’re not coming till to-morrow,” said Susan.

“Let’s begin exploring without waiting for them,” said Roger.

“Where?” said John.

“Where we left off last year,” said Titty eagerly. “Let’s go to Horseshoe Cove. It’s a lovely place. We had no time really to look at it. We don’t know what there is if you go up the beck. Let’s go up the beck to its source and put it on our map.”

“Horseshoe Cove is a good harbour,” said John, “and it’s in sight of the island. We could see if they came here after we’d gone. What about rations, Mister Mate?”

“It’s nearly dinner-time,” said Susan.

“Let’s have dinner in the cove,” said Titty.

“Why not?” said John. “Let’s have pemmican, Mister Mate. We haven’t had any since last year.”

“Come along then, you fo’c’sle hands,” said Susan.

Half an hour later the camp on Wild Cat Island was deserted except for the parrot, who was left on guard in his cage with a good store of sugar to keep him happy. The fire had been put out, for the mate did not like to leave it burning with nobody but the parrot to look after it. A knapsack full of bunloaf and apples and tea and sugar and chocolate, a jar of marmalade, the paper bag of Mrs. Dixon’s toffees (molasses), a tin of pressed beef (pemmican), a bottle of milk, one spoon and enough mugs to go round had been loaded into Swallow and she was pushed off from the landing-place.

The captain hoisted sail, the mate steered, the able-seaman took care that the cargo did not shift or spill or break, and the boy kept a look-out before the mast. They sailed first with the wind to have a look into Houseboat Bay, thinking that perhaps Captain Flint was back in the houseboat and his nieces with him. But the houseboat looked as dreary as ever, with its tarpaulin over the foredeck, and white curtains drawn across the cabin windows. Then they beat down the lake, past Wild Cat Island to Horseshoe Cove.

Horseshoe Cove owed its name to its shape. It was a little bay, shaped like a horseshoe, shut in between two rocky headlands on the western side of the lake. It lay just about south-west from the southern end of Wild Cat Island. There were woods that came down to the water’s edge there, though a little farther south there were green fields. Some way behind the cove the woods climbed steeply up the hillside towards the heather and bracken of the fells. Three or four tacks brought the Swallow to the entrance so that the mate could sail straight in between the headlands.

“Rock on the port bow,” sang out Roger, just as they turned in.

“A beast, too,” said John. “I don’t remember seeing it last year.”

“It’s all right with this wind,” said the mate, “but I wouldn’t like to run on it in the dark.”

“The day we were here was the day after the storm when the lake was very high. It must be much lower to-day.”

They looked at the waves breaking on a sharp-pointed rock that showed, awash, opposite the southern headland of the little cove.

In another moment they had left the open lake. Swallow, her pennant drooping, her main-sheet slack, was slipping across the smooth water of the sheltered cove towards a beach of white shingle below thick green trees.

“Don’t steer for the mouth of the stream,” said John. “There’s a bit of a bar there made by the stuff the stream brings down. Nancy showed it me last year. The best landing-place is this side. That’s right. Couldn’t be better. Ready with the painter, Roger?”

“Aye, aye, sir,” said the boy, jumping ashore as the boat touched.

As soon as the sail had been lowered and the kettle filled over the stern of the Swallow and carried ashore, Susan went to look for the old fireplace that she had built last year by the side of the stream, just where it joined the lake. Hardly a trace of it was left after the winter floods, but there were plenty of stones to build from, and while she was making a new fireplace, John, Titty and Roger were picking the best bits of driftwood they could find lying along the high-water mark in the cove. There were plenty of dry leaves for kindling, and dry reeds for the first little wigwam over the burning leaves. No one had been in the cove this year, so plenty of the larger driftwood for the real fire that was to boil the kettle was lying ready to be picked up. The kettle had already been filled, and the fire was burning up well, when the explorers were startled by a loud, cheerful shout from the lake.

“Ahoy! Ahoy! Swallows! Ahoy!”

A small varnished dinghy, about the size of Swallow, but with a white sail instead of her tanned one, was sailing in between the headlands. At the masthead was a black flag with the skull and crossbones on it in white. Two red-capped girls were the crew. One was steering. The other waved her hand as she started forward to be ready to haul up the centre-board.

“It’s them,” shouted Titty. “Hurrah! Now we can really start.”

“Hullo, pirates!” called Roger.

“Hullo, Nancy! Hullo, Peggy!”

“Hullo, my hearties!” called the girl who was steering. “Up with the centre-board, Peggy. That’s right. . . . Stand by with the halyard. Lower away.”

Down came the white sail and the little ship, on whose bows could now be plainly seen her name, Amazon, slipped on across the smooth water of the cove and grounded close beside the Swallow. The whole crew of the Swallow had left the fire and run down to be ready to lend a hand. They hauled her up a little and Nancy and Peggy Blackett jumped ashore and there was some tremendous shaking of hands.

“Did you see our smoke?” asked Titty.

“Uncle Jim saw it last night when he went up the fell for a smoke,” said Nancy. “Aunt Maria doesn’t like tobacco in the house.”

“We couldn’t get away until late this morning,” said Peggy. “And then we saw Swallow’s brown sail going into the cove soon after we had got past Rio Bay.”

“We waited a good long time,” said John, “and we thought it would be all right coming here because we could see if you went to the island.”

“We could have given you the slip and got there without your knowing,” said Nancy. “You never knew we were on the lake till we hailed when we were coming into the cove.”

“We were busy with the fire,” said Susan.

“But where’s your tent?” asked John. “We left your old place for it. We’ve got four tents this year, and one of the old ones for all the stores.”

“The new tents are beauties,” said Roger. “I’ve got one of my own.”

“Shiver my timbers,” said Captain Nancy, “don’t you understand? We put it in the message we left with the wood. We told you there was native trouble. We’re jolly lucky to be here at all. We’ve got to be back and into best frocks for supper. We can’t camp. What about the feathers, Able-seaman? How’s the parrot?”

“He’s not been moulting very well,” said Titty, “but I’ve got about eight really good ones. Polly’s looking after the island.”

“You don’t mean real native trouble?” said Susan.

“It’s as bad as it can possibly be,” said Nancy. “We’ve only got to make a plan and it’s scuppered at once. No camping. No gold-hunting. No piracy except just now and then between meals. And best frocks every evening and sometimes half the day. Native trouble? It simply couldn’t be worse.”

“Where’s Captain Flint?” asked Titty.

“He can’t come until to-morrow,” said Peggy.

“Didn’t we tell you he’s stuck too. He’s on duty to-day. That’s how we got away.”

“He’s going to tea at Holly Howe,” said Susan. “Mother told us last night.”